


Warmth in Winter

by firefright



Series: Talon and the Hood [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas Presents, Cute, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Fluff, Gen, Jason Todd is Robin, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9081916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright
Summary: When the rare opportunity of Bruce being out of town near Christmas strikes, Jason doesn't hesitate to make the most of the opportunity to deliver gifts to a secret friend of his. One his guardian can never know he visits.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I wasn't originally going to write something festive this year for these two, mostly because I can't write past Bottom of the River without spoiling the future of that fic but then this idea set back when Jason was Robin struck on Christmas Eve. The first draft was completed at 3am Christmas morning, because sleep is for the weak, and I just managed to do the editing for it today after a frantic Boxing Day yesterday. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy. I promise we'll be back to regular Sunday updates as of next week.

Waiting for the right moment is always the hardest part for Jason.

The right moment, when Bruce isn’t around and Alfred’s distracted, leaving him with the surefire knowledge that when he goes out into Gotham alone no one will be paying enough attention to his whereabouts to know where he went, or more ideally, that he was ever even gone - at least not until his business is done. Then he won’t care if they catch him, supplying one of his usual excuses to wave off any suspicions they might have upon his return.

Today, December 17th, is one of those moments, thanks to a Justice League emergency calling Bruce away in the early hours of the morning, which in turn had meant Alfred was left alone to fend off his employer’s various business associates in the final hectic days before Wayne Enterprises shuts down for Christmas. Providing both falsified signatures and excuses in equal measure.

Any other teenage boy would have seen this as a golden opportunity for idleness: sleeping in late and engaging in all the usual activities of his age group, but not Jason. He smelled opportunity of a different kind in the absence of his guardian, and waiting for the day to grow long and dark enough to exploit that opportunity has been akin to a form of torture. It’s so close to Christmas now, and Bruce will almost certainly do his damndest to be home for the holiday itself as part of his effort to be good guardian to Jason, so if he doesn’t make the most of this window now he may not get another chance until after the celebration has already been and gone.

With that in mind (after poking his head into the kitchen first to make sure the coast is clear) Jason makes a determined beeline for the plates of prepared treats sat waiting and unguarded on the breakfast counter.

After almost three years of living in Wayne Manor, the sight of so much food in one place no longer makes him queasy and uncomfortable the way it used to. He knows now that Alfred is not wasteful, that he always takes care with everything he makes, and hours of sitting with him in the kitchen and learning how to cook himself under his tutelage have given Jason a powerful appreciation for how much love and attention went into every dish.

Cookies, gingerbread, cupcakes and candies. A small selection from the edges of each plate is carefully picked up and put into one of the tupperware containers Jason finds inside one of the kitchen cupboards before being stowed into the satchel he normally carries with him to school, on top of the wrapped objects he’d already placed inside it earlier. He doesn’t want anything to get stained or mixed up, not when what he’s about to do is so important. You couldn’t give someone a gift if it was all covered in icing, you just _couldn’t_. Even if the icing itself was another part of the gift. 

He wants this to be perfect. He _needs_ this to be perfect. If it’s not— 

“Master Jason, what on earth do you think are you doing?”

Jason jumps a mile. A kid literally caught with his hand in the cookie jar as he looks back at where Alfred is standing in the doorway. There’s a candy cane hanging out of the corner of his mouth, and he knows he couldn’t look more like he was doing something wrong if he tried. “Er…”

Sighing, Alfred shakes his head before stepping into the kitchen. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, you don’t have to sneak food to take down to your associates in Crime Alley. I’m quite happy to provide it myself if you would only bother to ask me.”

“Oh… I…” Heat floods Jason’s face as he looks down at the floor. He swallows hard out of guilt, even as he grabs gratefully onto the end of the lie the butler had unknowingly supplied him with. “Yeah, I… I’m sorry, Alfred. I just… I guess it’s habit, you know?”

Alfred clucks his tongue at him, the sound understanding as much as it is disapproving. “A habit I’d hoped we might have broken you of at this point. This is your home, after all, and you’re welcome to the food inside it as much as any other member of the family.”

Jason stares even harder at the kitchen tile between his feet. _Family._ “Yeah, I know.”

He looks up again at the sound of the fridge opening. While he stands basking in his shame, Alfred has retrieved a loaf of bread from another cupboard, as well as a plate of cold ham, and now he brings the butter dish with him to the chopping board on the counter as well. “What are you…”

“Cookies and candy are all well and good as a treat, but they’re hardly what we in the business call a substantial meal, young sir. I think a few sandwiches to accompany them will do your friends much better, don’t you?”

The guilt churns more heavily inside his stomach, threatening to rip his insides to shreds. The unthinking kindness is almost more than he can bear, considering who he’s actually going to see tonight.

Not for the first time, Jason can feel himself shaping the words of the confession in his mouth; the truth he knows would do the old man in front of him a world of good. But he made a promise. He made a promise, and there’s a lot riding on that too. He can’t break it. Not yet, anyway.

Not until the person he made it to is ready for it to be broken.

Instead, he dares to step forwards and lean up against Alfred’s side in what is _almost_ a hug, head pressed in against his ribs so the butler won’t be able to see through the lie on his face. “Thanks, Alf.”

Alfred stiffens at first. Understandably, given how rarely he initiates such contact, but soon enough his hand comes up to rest itself upon Jason’s head in what feels like gentle benediction.

“You’re quite welcome, Master Jason. Now please, if you would be so kind as to pass me the bread knife out of the stand, I’ll make sure you have sufficient provisions for the night ahead.”

Somehow, Jason manages to conjure up a smile by the time he pulls back and fires off a sloppy salute before reaching for the bread knife. It won’t be forever he tells himself, and one day they’ll all be better off thanks to his deceptions up until this point.

(Or at least, he hopes they will.)

*

Three hours later, Jason is clutching the longer cape of his winter Robin uniform around him and shivering in the crisp night air of Gotham as he makes his way over the rooftops towards Burnley and the abandoned warehouses next to the waterfront there. He’s already been through Crime Alley and the larger area of the Bowery around it, and now is mostly just wandering while he waits for the man he’s looking for to make his presence know - if indeed he’s even going to show up at all.

Sometimes he does, and sometimes he doesn’t. It’s an unfortunate side-effect when they have no official way of communicating with each other outside of their face to face encounters. Any night Jason goes out purposefully looking for him, it’s like he’s tossing a coin up in the air and hoping that, against all the odds, it will land on its side rather than heads or tails. So statistically unlikely that he wonders if it’s even worth trying at all.

Gotham is such a big place, and his… his friend, is but a single shadow among many. Which means he could be anywhere, doing any _thing_. And it didn’t take a genius to understand that winter is not his favourite time of year. Jason wouldn’t blame him if he was cosied up inside some secret hiding hole instead of walking around outside in this weather, buried under a dozen blankets and hopefully with a hot water bottle to keep him company as well (which is exactly what he’s planning on doing when he gets home tonight, provided he doesn’t turn into an ice sculpture along the way first).

“Come on.” Jason mutters, trying to keep his teeth from chattering as he picks his way over another ice and black sludge covered roof. The material of his winter suit is supposedly made of a special kind of thermal fabric, designed to keep explorers warm in the Arctic. Or Antarctic. One of the two at any rate.

Whichever one it was, neither of the two polar ice caps had ever had the pleasure of meeting Gotham City in the winter. If they had, they’d probably give up and retire from their day jobs as the coldest places on Earth and hand the reins to her. Jason’s fairly sure his fingers might snap off like brittle twigs in his gloves if he doesn’t get somewhere warmer soon. His thoughts keep swaying traitorously away from his mission over to a vision of hot cocoa and a roaring fire. Hardly a good motivator for continuing to stay out here.

“Come on, T. Where are—”

“Looking for me?” 

Jason whips around just in time to see a sliver of darkness detach itself from the larger puddle beneath one of the factory roof’s smoke stacks. He almost slips on the ice as his does, but catches his balance just in time to stop himself from sliding down the roof and probably plummeting off the edge into the frozen river twenty feet below.

“God damn it, Talon.” he groans, stamping his feet and huffing in annoyance, though secretly he’s delighted and relieved to see him finally. “How long have you been following me?”

“Not that long this time, little bird.” Talon smirks back at him. “Did I frighten you?”

“No.” He says shortly, puffing out his cheeks as he hitches the strap of the satchel bag up higher on his shoulder. “Of course not.”

Talon keeps smiling as he walks towards him, balancing perfectly over the treacherous waves of corrugated iron beneath their feet despite the slippery conditions. He’s wearing his goggles, hiding the dual-coloured strangeness of his eyes from sight, but Jason still shivers when the clawed tips of his gloves come in to press against the back of his neck through his cape’s collar. It’s a shiver that has nothing at all to do with fear. “Are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure,” Jason grumbles, then for good measure adds, “You ass.”

Those fingers dig in a little deeper at the insult, but Talon laughs softly, openly teasing as he leans down closer so that they’re almost face to face. “You know it’s cute when you jump.”

Jason tries not to grow flustered under his gaze, a feat that’s become more and more difficult as he grows older. “For you, maybe. But I’m trying not to die of a heart attack before I’m twenty.”

“Oh I’d never allow that.”

“What, the heart attack or for me to die before I’m twenty?”

Talon’s fingers slide down his neck, drifting over his back before letting go. “Guess.”

Jason huffs at him, then bites his lip as an extra concentrated dose of icy wind funnels through the chimney stacks and bites into the exposed skin of his face. Stamping his feet again, he looks up to see Talon go very still at the same time, the smile dropping from his lips as he braces himself against the cruel weather.

Next year he’s asking Bruce for a balaclava as part of his uniform, definitely. Maybe two so that he can share one with Talon as well.

“So, uh…” Jason winces, fighting back a sneeze, “I don’t suppose there’s somewhere warmer we could go to talk around here?”

Talon’s distaste for the cold has been obvious to Jason since last year, when the threat of new snow falling from the sky had sent the assassin bolting away from his company on more than one occasion. Based on that evidence, he can’t imagine him having chosen to wander very far from whatever base of operations he’s using at the moment. And if that is so, then maybe he’ll be generous enough this year to let Jason see where he’s living if it means they get to be a little more comfortable during their time together without having to cut the meeting short.

“Cold, little bird?”

“Than a witch’s tit.” Jason answers smartly, knowing Talon won’t admit his discomfort himself (or take offence to the crudeness of his words). “Come on,” he pushes, standing up straight in the face of the measured look he’s being given, “You’ve gotta know a place, right?” 

Talon’s head cocks to his side, looking first at his face before tracking downwards towards the satchel at Jason’s side. Then finally he nods, jerking his head for Jason to follow him without another word spoken.

_Paydirt_ Jason thinks, pleased by what as he takes as a sign of trust as they walk a few buildings over, then drop down to street level and push through a broken fence into the overgrown garden of the small two-storey house beyond. The windows are all boarded up, but when Talon turns the doorknob of the back door it opens with ease. There’s not even a squeak to suggest the rust Jason would expect from a place that looks like it’s been sitting empty so long.

It’s a little dusty inside, a little gloomy and dim, but otherwise not too bad. There’s even a few intact pieces of furniture left, visible to Jason as Talon leads him into what was once the living room, where a pile of blankets have been used to cover the hardwood floor.

It breaks Jason’s heart to see him living like this, especially knowing who Talon used to be and where he once came from, but he knows better than to say anything about it. He lived this way too once, and he never had to fear the chances of someone coming after him the way Talon does. It’s solid enough to keep the wind out anyhow. Looks dry too, and in Jason’s vast experience that’s a massive bonus in any squat.

“So why were you looking for me?”

Jason licks his lips, stopping his examination of the house to pay attention to Talon. “Batman’s out of town tonight, and I didn’t know if I’d have another chance to see you before.”

“Before what?”

“Christmas, duh.” Jason shuffles over to the edge of the blanket pile, thinks about asking if he can, then decides to hell with it and just sits down. It doesn’t take another second for Talon to join him, reaching up his left hand to mess with the loose curls of Jason’s hair.

Touching has become a noticeably more frequent occurrence lately. The more they get to know each other, the more boundaries Talon seemed happy to break. He touched, he stroked, and now only rarely threatened. And though that should maybe give Jason pause for thought, mostly it just makes him feel accepted.

“So _that’s_ what all the lights around town are about.” Talon says in a dry tone, “I had no idea.”

Jason laughs, then slips the satchel bag off from around his head. “Yeah. Here, I uh, brought you some things. Gifts, I guess.”

“Jason…”

“What? I’m your own personal Santa Claus.” Jason tries not to blush as he talks over him, stopping any chance Talon has at protesting and dumping the bag in his lap before nodding to indicate that he should open it. “All yours.”

Talon is silent for a moment. His pale pretty lips pursed as takes his fingers from Jason’s hair to run them along the (real) leather of the bag’s strap instead. He’s completely still otherwise, doing that thing Jason has come to understands as a sign that he’s wrestling with some complicated thought in his head. Debating against what the Court told him was true about the nature of his existence in the face of what’s actually going on in front of him.

Probably some bullshit about how even good little Talon’s didn’t get gifts, let alone the bad ones. That was the kind of crap the Court of Owls liked to preach, all right.

Sure enough, his next question runs along those lines. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to.” Jason answers him promptly, “Because it’s what friends do, and everyone should have something at Christmas. It’s a rule, apparently.”

He’s not sure if he should be applying a label to what they are, but the term slips out easily enough as an excuse for why he’s doing this, and Jason hopes that Talon will understand. He’s been sharing food from the manor with him for a while now, so something more than that shouldn’t be too big a deal for him to accept at this point.

Talon slips the goggles off his head. In the darkness of the room, the gold-circles of his eyes almost seem to glow. And while Jason can’t see properly in these conditions without turning on the night vision lenses in his mask, he knows his companion can; knows that Talon is looking at him and reading every miniscule tic of muscle in his face, judging the sincerity of his reason as a scientist would the validity of a specimen under his microscope.

“Just…” he curses his own impatience as he can’t help talking, babbling really in the face of that scrutiny. “Just look at what’s in there, all right? It’s not much, and you don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to. Just look.”

There’s the hint of a smile again. “If you insist, little bird.”

“I do.” Jason says, watching closely as Talon starts to undo the straps of the bag. The delicate motions of his slender hands in their black gloves fascinating to watch. The top layer is the food, so there’ll be no surprise there: it’s what’s underneath that will make the difference tonight.

Talon looks pleased as he takes out the foil wrapped sandwiches first, and then the tupperware containers of sweets. Most likely, he’d be happy just with those; easily satisfied in a way Jason recognises from his own deprived childhood. A square meal that filled your belly was a joy in itself. A warm one even better, if rarer still.

He taps his fingers impatiently on his knees while he waits.

Then Talon finds the two wrapped packages sitting at the bottom of the bag, the ones clumsily bound in the cheap Santa-inscribed paper Jason had bought out of his own pocket from a drug store downtown because he didn’t want Alfred to notice him using the luxurious gold foil rolls they had at the manor. One after the other, he lifts them out of the satchel, weighing each in his hands. Both are small in size, though one is noticeably squishier than the other.

Jason can see the cogs turning in Talon’s head as he turns them over. There are no gift tags, he didn’t they’d be necessary. And it was probably safer not to put any kind of identification on the paper, just in case. 

“... do I have to wait for the day?”

“No. You can open them now.” Jason hastens to assure him. He wants him to open them now. He wants to see the look on his face when he sees what’s inside and know whether he’s done a good job or not, so that he can go ahead and hate himself in full confidence when he gets home tonight if he hasn’t.

Permission granted, Talon opens the slightly larger present first. He does so delicately, using the sharpened claws of his gloves to slice beneath the cellotape and lift open the folded flap at the end before reaching in to draw out what’s inside: a scarf, made from alpaca wool and dyed deep blue in colour. It was more expensive than anything Jason has ever bought for himself - maybe even bought in his _life_ , but the label had promised it would provide greater warmth than plain old cotton or even sheep’s wool could, and that alone had been enough to make him decide the expense was worth it.

When the notion of giving Christmas gifts to a deadly assassin had first come into his head, Jason had quickly surmised that practical gifts were the way to go with Talon. Things that would be useful to him rather than an encumbrance: easily carried as he moved from place to place throughout the city. That way they were more likely to be accepted, rather than discarded the moment his back was turned.

“You said you liked blue, remember? That night we were rode the trains around Gotham.” He says anxiously. Then suddenly doubting his memory, adds, “You did say that, didn’t you?”

The small smile grows wider. He watches Talon lift the end of the scarf to his nose, watches him smell the fabric before turning his head to feel its softness against his cheek. “Yes, Jason. I did.”

Thank Christ for that. He’ll call present number one a success after all, then. At least so long as Talon is continuing to rub his face all over it like a catnip-high feline rather than a bird.

“Cool.” Jason says, relieved and grinning back at him for a moment before turning his attention to the second gift, “So the other one…”

Talon arches an eyebrow at his eagerness. It’s possible that Jason is more excited about him opening it than he is, but he charitably plays along, slicing open the paper with his claws again before tipping the contents out into his lap on top of the scarf.

Three aluminium and plastic cases clad in thin cotton sleeves. Jason foresaw Talon’s confusion over their purpose the moment he decided to give them to him, so he instantly inches in closer - so close they’re almost touching - and reaches to take one of the objects from his lap. 

“We have these at the cave. Usually for whenever we have to go somewhere _really_ cold.” He explains slowly. “They’re electric hand warmers. Better than the ones you can buy in the stores too. Most of those only last a few hours, but these ones can go on for days. They’ve got some kind of crazy super powered battery inside ‘em, you see, kinda like Green Lantern’s ring.” He’s exaggerating a little, but he’s also desperately aware of the almost press of Talon’s head against his as he leans in closer to watch the demonstration. “All you gotta do to start it is press this little button on the end here and…”

Heat blossoms against Jason’s palm as he activates the battery inside the device before handing it back to Talon, again trying not to appear too eager as he waits for his reaction. And it’s worth it, as first shock and then childlike delight take over his expression.

Talon cradles the hand warmer in both palms before lifting it up his face. His eyes close in sheer bliss for a moment at the concentrated heat ebbing into his white skin, then open again as he smiles at Jason, who now feels like he can reasonably call this venture a two for two victory.

“Thank you, little bird.” Talon breathes, confirming it.

“It’s nothing.” Jason blushes, “I figured they’d help you, that’s all. What with it being winter and all. And when they do run out of power you can just give them back to me and I’ll recharge them for you. Easy peasy.”

Judging by his reaction so far that will be within the next week, because Talon might never put them back down otherwise.

He unzips the neck of his suit - which Jason has never seen him do before either, not even during the height of summer - and slips the warmer down between it and his skin. Another blissful sigh follows, this one a good deal deeper and throatier than the first. “He won’t miss them?”

“Who? Oh, _him_ … yeah no, we’ve got loads. I’ll just say I took them and they got lost if he asks.” Jason shrugs, fighting and failing to tear his gaze away from the sight the bare skin of his neck. Half the truth is easier to tell than none, after all. “So you really like them?”

Talon grins wider. This time he fully cups the back of Jason’s neck in his palm, scratching his fingers through the short hairs at the base of his skull. It feels nice, sending warm tingles bouncing up and down his spine like a yo-yo. Jason fights not to squirm at the feeling, but he’s not even halfway through being fifteen yet and that makes it much harder than it sounds. “I really do.”

“Good, I… I’m glad. The scarf too, figured you’d like that.” He freezes as Talon’s other hand cups his chin, lifting his face up so they’re looking right into each other’s eyes. “Uh… T?”

“I just realised, I don’t have anything to give you.”

“Oh that… That’s fine. Don’t worry about that. That’s not why I did it. I just…” He squirms a little, “...wanted to help. Like I said. It’s not about expecting anything back.”

Talon’s mouth is very close to his now, he realises. Very, very close indeed. So close he can feel the warmth of his breath over his lips in a ghostly caress of air. The betrayal of his own body is a very real source of distress as he tries not to do anything suicidal in light of that fact. “Then what is it about?”

Jason swallows down the jagged rock in his throat. His answer one straight out of a Hallmark card, “Showing people that you care about them.”

It’s curious watching the intensity of Talon’s eyes up this close, the intricacies of his thought process as he works through each tidbit of information. The sharp tip of his gloved thumb slides over the smooth skin of Jason’s cheek, light enough to sting if not to cut. “And you care about me?”

This meeting has taken a rapidly different turn from what Jason meant it to be all of a sudden. He could try lying, but something - instinct - tells him that wouldn’t be a good idea. His answer is an indirect one nonetheless, “You think I’d freeze my butt off coming out here if I didn’t?”

“No.” Talon says quietly, voice softer now than Jason’s ever heard it before. “I don’t think you would.”

This time there’s no hiding his shiver. “Talon, I…”

The brush of lips against his cheek is almost nothing, yet still enough to completely disrupt Jason’s ability to think. His mouth falls open as (almost) all the blood in his body charges up to plant flags in his face. “What…”

“That’s another thing people do to show they care about each other, isn’t it?” Talon says as he leans back, looking smugly pleased with himself. It’s hard to tell if he’s joking or not. “I don’t have a present for you, so I thought you’d like that instead.”

_Hugging_. Jason almost says, _Hugging is usually the first step._ but he’s honestly too caught up in the exultation of what just happened to want to voice that thought and make Talon take it back. “... yeah. Yeah it is. I mean, I do...”

The hand stays at the back of his neck, continuing to comfortably hold him there as Talon turns to reach for the food next to them. It feels good, feels warm even though the leather. Comforting, like… maybe, the first indication of the wind changing direction around him. Around them. There’s nothing wrong with hoping after all, especially at this time of the year. And Talon…

Talon wouldn’t do something like that if he didn’t mean it. Jason is sure he wouldn’t.

He takes the cookie that’s handed to him in numb fingers, raising it to his mouth and biting and chewing on automatic until the taste of cinnamon spreads across his tongue. But even that spice doesn’t compare to the heat at the corner of his lips, where the imprint of Talon’s lips will linger on his skin long after they’ve parted ways tonight.


End file.
